ndness, cheering the
desponding, and imparting, as it were, her own strong, healthful life to
the weak and faint; supporting upon her bosom, through weary nights, the
heads of those who, in health, would have deemed her touch pollution; or
to hear her singing for the ear of the dying some sweet hymn of pious
hope or resignation, or calling to mind the consolations of the gospel
and the great love of Christ."

"I trust," said I, "that the feelings of the community were softened
towards her."

"You know what human nature is," returned the Doctor, "and with what
hearty satisfaction we abhor and censure sin and folly in others. It is
a luxury which we cannot easily forego, although our own experience
tells us that the consequences of vice and error are evil and bitter
enough without the aggravation of ridicule and reproach from without.
So you need not be surprised to learn that, in poor Julia's case, the
charity of sinners like herself did not keep pace with the mercy and
forgiveness of Him who is infinite in purity. Nevertheless, I will do
our people the justice to say that her blameless and self-sacrificing
life was not without its proper effect upon them."

"What became of Robert Barnet?" I inquired.

"He came back after an absence of several months, and called on me
before he had even seen his father and mother. He did not mention
Julia; but I saw that his errand with me concerned her. I spoke of her
excellent deportment and her useful life, dwelt upon the extenuating
circumstances of her error and of her sincere and hearty repentance.

"'Doctor,' said he, at length, with a hesitating and embarrassed manner,
'what should you think if I should tell you that, after all that has
passed, I have half made up my mind to ask her to become my wife?'

"'I should think better of it if you had wholly made up your mind,' said
I; 'and if you were my own son, I wouldn't ask for you a better wife
than Julia Atkins. Don't hesitate, Robert, on account of what some ill-
natured people may say. Consult your own heart first of all.'

"'I don't care for the talk of all the busybodies in town,' said he;
'but I wish father and mother could feel as you do about her.'

"'Leave that to me,' said I. 'They are kindhearted and reasonable, and
I dare say will be disposed to make the best of the matter when they
find you are decided in your purpose.'

"I did not see him again; but a few days after I learned from his
parents that he